The Water Seep Through
by PlatinumViola
Summary: AU. When a building collapses on her best friend and boyfriend, Annabeth can't stop seeing them everywhere. She can't accept the person she is now - a teen on anti-psychotics. Trying to control her inner crazy isn't working... But is she truly going mad?
1. Chapter 1

**Completely AU. Probably going to be around 10 chapters or so. Annabeth's POV. **

**Hi, all! I'm back with another story. Hope you like it!**

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"Thalia!" I screamed over the unearthly rumble. I clasped my boyfriend's hand tighter as debris began to rain down over our heads. "_Di immortales_, the building's going to fall!"

She was metres in front of us – already barely visible due to the cloud of dust that had began to rise. "Thalia, gods, are you okay?"

She struggled underneath a part of the ceiling that had collapsed. Pillars around us shook – and I could barely stay on my feet. The ground beneath me rolled like a wave, and I braced myself for the moment when the entire building would give. Trying to summon some balance, I staggered to her best friend. "Holy – Thalia—" I tried to choke back a hysterical sob; I couldn't even believe this was happening. "I've got to get this thing off of you. Percy, gods, help us!"

Percy was right next to me, already trying to budge the chunk. "Damn. This thing – help me, Annabeth! We'll lift it together."

Thalia was screaming profanities, her leg broken under the concrete. My breathing was shaky, and it was influencing my vision. Everything I was seeing was like a film taken with an insanely shaky camera style, and I tried to focus on placing my hands underneath. Helping Percy move it. Thalia crying out as the rock was shoved aside.

I was helping Thalia up before I knew it. "God, I know it hurts," I'm screaming into her face, "but we've got to keep moving; I swear, if we make it out alive I'll do your homework, I'll never be annoying when you tease me about Percy. Hang on, Thals, hang on."

She can't do anything but nod – pain written on her face, like dirty ink in a million different colours. Written in the crinkles on her eyes as she squeezes them tight, her tight grimace as she tries not to yell in pain, as I half-drag her towards the doors. If we can only get out, we won't be under the building when it falls.

Thalia's saying something, but it's so loud as people stampede and debris falls, that I can't do anything but nod and tell her to hang on. We've got to get out, and I'm so focused on getting out that it isn't until we're halfway there and she's been struggling against me that I let her words get through to my brain.

"Fire, Annabeth! There's a fire!"

Sure enough, it isn't just dust that's stinging my eyes and clouding my vision; grey, awful smoke is filling the air.

"What the hell?" I scream, because I can't think of anything else. I turn to Thalia, but her eyes are rolling in pain – her leg twisted to the side in a way that I couldn't stand looking at it.

"I can't, Annabeth. My God, my leg, just leave me here. You've got to get Percy!"

_Percy._

A string of curses lodge in my throat, but I save my breath. "Oh, God."

"Get him, Annabeth. Where is he?"

The temperature in the room has risen incredibly, and I realize my shirt is soaked through with nervous sweat. "I can't leave you here, Thals. What the hell? Why would you tell me to do that?"

Tears are running down her face, mixing with the sweat that's broken out all over her. I can't tell whether she's crying from pain, or fear. "What if he didn't get out? God, Annabeth. I'll never forgive myself if he dies in here. He was the one good boyfriend you ever had – remember all those fails? You can't lose him."

I try to swallow, but my throat so thick and swollen I feel like I'm going to choke on my tongue. "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, I don't need to hear it. We're going to die anyway. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter."

I know she wants me to leave her, because she thinks, she _knows, I _know that she isn't going to make it out of the building. The fire is metres away, the only evidence of people are the shrieks polluting the air. I refuse to think about the fact that we'll be screaming that way minutes from now. I can't leave her.

Thalia and I had grown up together. She might as well have been my sister. "I'm not leaving," I insist weakly; giving up on the encouragement. It felt like a thousand degrees, and I felt like I was roasting. Hell, I probably was already being cooked inside out. I was terrified, so filled with dread for the idea that I was facing my own death that it wasn't until I fell to my knees that I realized I had forgotten to breathe for a little while.

I could run – I could reach the doors. The ceiling creaked overhead. It was going to fall any second. But if I sprinted, I had a fighting chance. Could I leave her?

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	2. Chapter 2

**Cheers! Second chapter of The Water Seep Through available! Also, it's going to be five chapters instead of ten. Sorry 'bout that. Lack of planning on my part. :P**

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_I was being crushed. Crushed by an incredible weight of rock and steel – the flesh and blood of a concrete jungle. I had no chance to cry out as the load pressed every ounce of breath from my body. My bones were powder and the pain so great I couldn't believe I hadn't passed out yet. I was alone, under a building that held people, so many people. . ._

"Ms Chase?" a kind voice, tinged with an almost professional concern was speaking to me. Was there someone else underneath all this rubble? Someone who could save me? God, who could save Percy and Thalia? "Ms Chase," the voice continued – most definitely a woman, "it's alright. It must be a flashback or a hallucination. Everything's alright."

An incessant wail was piercing the air, and if I had breath, I wanted to tell it to shut up. Shut up _shuttup_. My throat ached, and when a hand began caressing my shoulder, I realized that the wail was coming from me. _I _was screaming to the point that I could taste blood in my mouth. My tongue could feel raw flesh.

I forced myself to inhale.

"What?" I croaked.

"You were having a flashback of some kind," the voice said patiently. "It won't be your last, but we'll be right here."

My eyes flew open. I wasn't dying – at least, it didn't feel like it. "Where am I?"

"You're at the St. Anne's Hospital."

The voice belonged to a pretty nurse with jet black curls, her makeup neatly done. I turned my head to the side; I was lying in a hospital bed, the unmistakeable whiteness of everything was obvious. Every surface clear and sanitized and so repelling that it drove tingles up my arms. I _hated_ hospitals.

"Can I have some water?" I asked, hoping that it would make her go away and leave me alone.

I had no luck. "Of course," she smiled, and withdrew a bottle of Evian from the drawer in the side table. "I'll put it in a cup for you."

There was a quick knock on the door, and a young man in white entered with the classic agility of an ER doctor. He looked too young for his occupation, but he moved with experience, pulling up a chair next to me. "Hello, Ms Chase. How are you feeling?"

"Horrible." What did it look like?

"Well, it's late at night right now, and your parents have gone home. They'll be here in the morning; I'm sure that their presence will be comforting. I'm Dr. Bouvier, and you were brought here two days ago by emergency personnel. Do you remember anything?" His blue eyes were bright for late night, and I couldn't look into them.

"Yeah," I breathe. "There was an earthquake, wasn't there? We weren't even that scared, I mean, this is California. We – God... a-are they okay? Percy? Thalia?" I knew his eyes would betray the truth before his words did, so I kept my own tightly shut.

"Ms Chase, Thalia was—"

_Was. They're talking about her in past tense... she's dead._

"No, no."

"Ms Chase, I'm very sorry, you've just woken up. You should get some rest, and we'll speak in the morning."

"No," I say, my voice startlingly loud to my own ears. "Tell me, I'm fine."

Warily, he resumed his position. "Thalia Grace was found dead a few feet from where you were found. Miraculously, you were trapped underneath heavy sheets of metal when the building fell, that you were not crushed by the impact. Teams have been searching for any survivors, but your..."

"Boyfriend."

"Yes, Percy Jackson. No remains have been found. It isn't uncommon, though, Ms Chase. It's been four days, but he could still be alive in the rubble... or his body underneath it all. They're still retrieving many people who died when the building collapsed."

"No – that's not what happened. It can't be; I was there – Percy was right next to me."

"Ms Chase, I have to inform you that you're suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. PTSD, for short. You've experienced some horrific things, along with the death of a friend—"

"She was my best friend. The only real friend I ever had."

"Yes, and the likely death of your boyfriend. Not everything you remember is right – many of them could be the products of your experience and your imagination. Often, the brain will merge memories and hallucinations in an attempt to cope with the stress. Eventually, you'll be able to tell what is real and what isn't, but at this point in time, you will be very confused. It's best not to think about it."

I felt nauseous. _PTSD_? I wasn't a soldier, for goodness' sakes. Didn't this only happen to soldiers? The room spun wildly. Thalia was dead. Percy was good as dead. In one night. And I've got this doctor telling me my memories of Percy aren't real. I could've sworn he hadn't died – but it could just be that my wishful thinking has created false memories.

"I have to leave you now, Ms Chase. Have a good night; I'll see you in the morning."

The nurse followed him out, shooting me a comforting smile as she stepped out.

"God," I say to myself – what in hell had happened to my life?

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	3. Chapter 3

**So, I haven't updated in forever. Sorry about that. Here is the third installment. **

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"You sure you'll be alright, sweetie?" my mother called from the kitchen.

"I'll be fine," I say. "This isn't my first day back, Mom. It's my fourth. I can drive myself to school."

I step out of the door, swinging my backpack over my shoulder. After a couple weeks of recovery, I had insisted on returning to school. I had taken a course overload; my accelerated program wasn't going to wait on me, and I still wanted to finish my degree early. I had been back for three days – and so far, I hadn't had any major hallucinations. There were still occasional lapses, like I'd think that I had told my teacher about my drawing due date, when I actually hadn't.

Pulling into the campus parking lot, I spot a couple of my classmates, and I hurry out to meet them.

"Annabeth!" the girl closest turned to me excitedly. "How are you?"

I give her a half-smile. "Fine, Silena." I hadn't told anyone about my PTSD. I mean, who wanted to be around a freaky girl who hallucinates and creates fake memories for herself?

"Hey," Katie said, glancing at her phone. "Class starts in twenty – you want to grab a Starbucks with me?"

Silena muttered agreement – I still had to tell that teacher about my architectural drawing project. "You guys go," I say. "I've got to see Mr. Chiron about something."

"'Kay, I'll see you later," Silena calls, as they walk toward the campus food court.

I speedwalk toward the teacher offices, my gaze roaming around, watching students study last-minute notes or catch up with their friends. The sky overhead is cloudy and grey, and I know that we'll probably have rain later this afternoon.

"Annabeth."

I turn around, startled. "Yeah?"

No one's even remotely near to me, but my palms start sweating. Was I hallucinating? I turn back slowly, my heart rate quickening.

I start toward the offices, slower this time, and it's louder, as if the sound was carrying. "Annabeth!"

I spin – turning every which way, trying to spot someone who was calling me. I can only imagine how stupid I look; I'm turning by myself, talking to someone I can't see. If people even talk about it – my mom will hear about it and send me back to her psychiatrist friends. I can't have that.

I force myself to stop, to casually turn my head.

And that's when I see him.

"Annabeth!" he's waving his arms, moving toward me.

Oh, god. I really was insane. I was hallucinating my dead boyfriend at my campus.

"Percy?"

"Annabeth," he yells, jogging over the grass.

I want to open my arms and hug him – feel his warmth. Smell his cologne. Feel his breath on my cheek. Have his fingers trace patterns on my back. To press my face into his chest.

_What am I thinking? He's dead._

Suddenly, I have an urge to escape this dead, ghost Percy; to flee from my past – because all it did was haunt me.

There was nothing to do but run.

"Annabeth, wake up. Annabeth," my mom's voice woke me from a dreamless sleep. Her heavy-lidded eyes look at me, her hair freshly straightened. "Annabeth, are you okay?"

I stare back at her. Then it all comes rushing back – I had seen Percy. "I don't know."

"Annabeth, I'm so worried. You came driving back home, completely hysterical. Screaming Percy's name."

"I- I saw him. He was—" I stop myself. She's staring at me, worry creasing her face. I realize how crazy I sound. I was telling my mother I saw my dead boyfriend at school.

"Annabeth, you've got to see Mike. He's a really nice guy – he'll help you out. I know it must be so hard, sweetie."

Mike. God, her psychiatrist friend. He was going to counsel me – talk to me. What's happened to me? I used to be my mom's pride – star student, sweet and fully coping. Now I couldn't even deal with my memories.

"I'll give him a call tonight, Annabeth. Give it a try, okay?"

I swallow. Maybe I really did need help. I certainly didn't want to keep hallucinating about clandestine relations with a dead boy. "Okay."

It better help.

"Annabeth, lovely to meet you. I'm Mike Roland."

We shook hands. I chose the couch, placing the throw pillow in my lap.

Dr. Roland smiled. "So what's up?"

I ran my tongue around in my dry mouth. "I think I'm hallucinating."

"Why do you think so?"

"Well, I have PTSD," I glanced at him almost accusatorily, "but I'm sure you know that already. It's probably stamped all over my file."

"Have you experienced hallucinations before?"

I squirmed on the couch. "Yeah. I mean, I constantly have fake memories, and I don't know what really happened when—"

"When...?"

"When the building fell on me. I don't know. I just know what people tell me, and some things that I think happened – but I can't be sure."

"A building fell on you... during the recent 4.5 earthquake? Did anything else happen during then?"

I stared at him for a second. He took it as hesitation.

"You don't have to tell me – only if you want to."

"My boyfriend died. And my best friend. And that's mostly what I hallucinate about – like, a couple days ago, I saw my boyfriend at school – and apparently I freaked out and drove myself home. My mom said I was hysterical. I don't remember any of it, other than I saw him and he looked so... real."

"Well, how are you lately?"

"I'm okay. I mean, I've gone back to school, and I've been coping just fine with the transition back into the workload.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me about what other hallucinations you have?"

"Sometimes, I feel like my best friend's right next to me; and I believe it so much that I actually turn to talk to her. But she obviously isn't there. And I have this ridiculous feeling that my boyfriend is still alive sometimes, and I call him. It's been pretty hard on me."

"I think that it's brave of you to tell me about all of this." He didn't sound patronizing or professionally kind.

"I just – I know I sound like I'm crazy. And that's what's really hard on me. I mean, I was like, the perfect daughter. And now, I can't go a day with my family without saying something detached or mentioning a fake memory. The looks they give me – they aren't trying to be mean, but just the pity on their faces. I can't stand it."

"Annabeth, if you're doing just fine at school, don't quit. It'll just give you more time to mope around with all the stress of what you've gone through. However, watch the stress at school. PTSD episodes tend to be triggered by moments of stress." He handed me a prescription, and I glanced at it: Zyprexa.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Something that might help."

I shrugged and stood. "Thanks, Mike."

"No problem, Annabeth. Feel free to call me if you feel like you'd like to talk."

I drove back home, hoping that medication might actually help. Maybe it was a stress reliever or something, maybe a calming drug. Still, I couldn't resist googling it when I got home.

_Zyprexa_. I clicked on the first website, and I could feel my throat close up.

It was an anti-psychotic.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Voila, fourth chapter! Enjoy :)**

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I can't believe it. He gave me an anti-psychotic. Was that what I was? _Psychotic_? So mentally messed up that I needed drugs to keep my crazy in check? I really must be going mad.

I stood in my bathroom, my head aching. I opened my cabinet and blink twice. Yesterday my shampoo was in here. I had rearranged everything. It was gone. Now they sat on the shower ledge. My straightener fell from my hands. I was already having a bad day. I was imagining things. Again.

My classes were only in the afternoon, so I turn on the tub faucet. I needed a hot bath. It would help me relax. Help ease the stress. Wasn't that what Dr. Roland said triggered PTSD episodes? I turn to look at myself in the mirror, and my breath freezes in my throat. Anna was right there. Next to me. I turn wildly, but she isn't there. When I turn back to the full-length mirror, she's right there, looking so serious. She can't see me, and she brushes her bangs aside.

Frightened, I turned to the bath, now overflowing – somehow I had been distracted for that long. I throw a towel on the floor to soak up the water, and slip in. The water is hot, so I launch myself over the side, screaming. At least, I think I am – I'm screaming, screaming but I can't hear a thing, only the splash of the water as it joins me over the edge, splattering the bathroom rug.

_I've got to drain the water._

I turned back to pull the plug, my naked body shaking. I was insanely scared of the water now – an irrational fear clawing at me, shredding my stomach into pieces.

I lean over the edge of the tub.

A sterling silver necklace glints next to the drain plug. I raise my hand to my neck.

Gone.

That was the chain Percy gave me for our anniversary this year. It had our initials engraved on it, and our favourite saying: _Love and let love_.

I couldn't lose it. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe slower. I was hyperventilating to the point that my breaths came in rushed gasps.

I stuck a hand into the water. I had to get that necklace.

I plunged my whole arm in. I cry out – the water is scalding hot. Still, I force my other arm in, feeling for the chain that I had seen moments before. The heat is too great, and I try to pull my arms out, but they won't move.

I thought I was screaming, or yelling, or saying something forever, because I couldn't breathe in. Couldn't get a breath into my body. I crumpled against the side of the bathtub.

My stepmother found me there two hours later.

"My gods, Annabeth. I almost had a heart attack."

I didn't know what to say to the woman who had raised me. How do I explain the fact that I had to be taken to the ER for second-degree burns? I could see in her eyes that she thought I had done it on purpose – that I had turned into some self-mutilating freak. How could I defend myself? Say that something held me underneath? That I couldn't move my body for some odd reason?

I looked away. "I'm sorry."

My older brother, Malcolm, was next to her. "Hey, Annabeth," he grins.

I have a sudden appreciation for his kindness; trying to shrug the incident off to our mother.

"Annabeth, you need to take a break," she said. "You're getting stressed over school exams, not to mention you've taken an overloaded semester. You'll stay at home for at least a month. You need to."

I couldn't argue. I had just stuck my arms in scalding hot water for two hours. I could see why I appeared like I needed even more help. "Okay."

"What were you thinking, Annabeth? Why?"

I can't begin to explain myself. "I was going to take a bath, and I saw Thalia – I mean, I hallucinated Thalia in the room with me. And I wanted a bath to calm myself, but my necklace—" I take a gasp of breath, as if I were drowning. "The necklace Percy gave me for our anniversary fell into the tub. I never take the thing off, and I had to get it before I unplugged the drain."

"Did you get the necklace?" she asked.

"No," I said, my voice breaking.

She stared at me for a moment, her eyebrows furrowing. She walked over to me and places her hand on my neck. I felt her fingers close around a hook, and then she pulls back. I lifted my hand to my chest, and I feel my fingers close on the familiar cool metal. She unhooked the necklace and placed it in my hand. Tears welled in my eyes.

I had imagined the whole thing.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Hi, everyone! I present to you - the conclusion of this fic!**

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Percy and I were at the park. We had always loved sitting in the sand, staring at the lake with the countless colours reflecting on it during the afternoon. He moved an arm around my waist, letting me press close to him. I was ridiculously happy for some reason, letting the hot sun bathe me, until a thin sheen of sweat had covered every inch of my skin.

But that wasn't now. That was a memory – and I still couldn't tell whether or not it was real. An intense longing for him was consuming me right now, a flaming heat searing me. I'd give anything to have him move his arms around me again – to feel his lips press into my own.

_Stop it_, I told myself. I'd probably work myself up to the point that I'd stress over it. And then I'd be vulnerable to the episodes again. I had gone for a week without them – taking my Zyprexa pill every morning was at least controlling part of my crazy. In fact, I had just taken it, and I was sitting in the living room, thinking about watching some TV to pass the time. It would certainly take my mind off Percy, at least for a little bit.

I opened the blinds, but it was pouring out, and all the effort does is fill the room with a grey emptiness. I closed them again, and turn on the lights, preferring the warm yellow glow instead.

I turned to make myself a quick breakfast that I could take to eat while watching some sitcom for the morning. As I pulled the milk out of the fridge, a knock sounded at the door, and I bolted upright.

I waited, holding my breath.

I heard the knock again. This was ridiculous. It was probably someone selling chocolates or asking for a donation. I was feeling jittery over nothing.

I could hear the pattering of rain against the pane of the window. I tried to compose myself, then let the door swing open.

Standing in the rain, dripping and soaked to the bone was... Percy.

Come on. I took my pill. I tried not to stress. I _did not_ deserve to hallucinate again.

I swallowed, and prepared to close the door in one swift _whoosh_. I was going to walk away and continue cooking my omelette.

"Annabeth."

He was talking to me. I hadn't heard his voice since that time on campus that I had imagined him running over the grass. Imagination Percy was talking to me, again.

I could feel my eyes glaze over. I knew I was falling into the trap again – I was letting my trauma control my thoughts. I wasn't focusing on something else. "Percy."

Raindrops streak down his face, and his eyebrows knit together. "I'm here, Annabeth. I'm alive. I didn't die. I ran – I left you."

I wanted to laugh out loud – the part of me that was trying to break me out of this trance. My brain was trying to convince me that Percy was still alive. This was ridiculous.

"You're not alive," I insisted to Imagination Percy. "You died. Stop bothering me."

"No," his voice sounds desperate, and he steps over the threshold, and his clothes drip water onto the ceramic tile. "Annabeth," he looked at me like I was the one who was crazy. Wait, maybe I was. A dead person can't exactly lose their mind any longer.

I can't speak. Water is pooling around him, wetting the pretty rug in the hall. I want to say that he's ruining it, but if he isn't real, he isn't really dripping. "Go away," I said, trying to force my brain to snap out of it.

"I'm real, Annabeth."

I stared at him. If I can feel him – see that he was real... he'd feel soaking wet, wouldn't he? He wouldn't just look wet, looking like he was dripping. If he felt wet – if I felt the water drip...

If he was real.

He stepped forward, embracing me.

And I could feel the water soak through my shirt.

Real.

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**Please check out my fic series Pop, by Percabeth for Percabeth galore! Also, I'm on twitter: samkinggg :) Review and favorite!**


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